Little Girl knew better than that, and when she began to tell him
all about it, and how the Christmas fairies had welcomed her, and how
Santa had given her such a fine ride, Daddy laughed and laughed, and
said, "You've been dreaming, Little Girl, you've been dreaming."

But Little Girl knew better than that, too, for there on the hearth was
the little Black Coal, which had given her Two Shoes and Bright Light,
and tight in her hand she held a holly berry which one of the Christmas
Sprites had placed there. More than all that, there she was on the
hearth-rug herself, just as Santa had left her, and that was the best
proof of all.

The trouble was, Daddy himself had never been a Little Girl, so he
couldn't tell anything about it, but we know she hadn't been dreaming,
now, don't we, my dears?

VII

"A CHRISTMAS MATINEE"[D]

MRS. M. A. L. LANE

IT WAS the day before Christmas in the year 189--. Snow was falling
heavily in the streets of Boston, but the crowd of shoppers seemed
undiminished. As the storm increased, groups gathered at the corners and
in sheltering doorways to wait for belated cars; but the holiday cheer
was in the air, and there was no grumbling. Mothers dragging tired
children through the slush of the streets; pretty girls hurrying home
for the holidays; here and there a harassed-looking man with perhaps a
single package which he had taken a whole morning to select--all had the
same spirit of tolerant good-humor.

"School Street! School Street!" called the conductor of an electric car.
A group of young people at the farther end of the car started to their
feet. One of them, a young man wearing a heavy fur-trimmed coat,
addressed the conductor angrily.

"I said, 'Music Hall,' didn't I?" he demanded. "Now we've got to walk
back in the snow because of your stupidity!"

"Oh, never mind, Frank!" one of the girls interposed. "We ought to have
been looking out ourselves! Six of us, and we went by without a thought!
It is all Mrs. Tirrell's fault! She shouldn't have been so
entertaining!"

The young matron dimpled and blushed. "That's charming of you, Maidie,"
she said, gathering up her silk skirts as she prepared to step down into
the pond before her. "The compliment makes up for the blame. But how it
snows!"

"It doesn't matter. We all have gaiters on," returned Maidie Williams,
undisturbed.

"Fares, please!" said the conductor stolidly.

Frank Armstrong thrust his gloved hand deep into h